Author's Note : Hey guys, I thought I'd try something different and write my first one shot, hope you enjoy even if it is a bit depressing...
"NAGISA!" I'm awake and sitting up, not that I remember doing either. Cradling my head in my hands I chant "It was just a dream, that's all it was, a dream," but I know it's not. I can't fool reality.
I hate it here; in this flat, in this town, in this life. So filled with memories I'd rather box up and lock away to never see the light again. Looking around, the loneliness sets in deep inside me. It's one of the few emotions I still feel nowadays, eluding the numbness that consumes the shell that I dare call myself. It doesn't matter though, happiness would be wasted on me, just like the air I breathe is.
In the distance I hear a soft thudding against the door, a noise I haven't heard in a while. I know who's come to see me. I muster my energy and take the first step into the cruel world that I bare alone each day. When I reach my front door I hesitate. I know that this meeting is inevitable.
Opening it, the shade of auburn hair I long to forget first thing I register. Sanae-san's face is next, a small sad smile graces her lips and her morose eyes say more than words ever could. "Okazaki-kun, Ushio has been waiting to see you." A small child shyly comes forward from behind her, clutching onto the fabric of her grandmother's dress. I'm not prepared. From her hair to the way she held herself, Ushio looks so much like her.
"P-Papa" She raises her hand slowly and gazes up at me with eyes that are all too familiar. Before she can make contact however, I lurch back from my child. From Nagisa's child.
"Go away! I-I don't want you here." I shut my eyes, desperately trying to block the memories out.
The four year old isn't surprised but her eyes cloud over with melancholy. Her little hand drops to her side; empty. I can feel Sanae pity me and I know this isn't fair. But who's to say what's fair? Tell me who!
I reach for a bottle of whisky as the door closes with a 'click'. I drink to keep the box of memories locked up. It drowns them and keeps them quiet for at least a while. It's my only escape from the guilt.
'It should have been you' the walls seem the groan and I can't help but agree. As I take another swig I whisper "What have I become?"